Couples of South Pointe Lake

17. Becca’s Phone call

Becca DeLuis’s closing hour from work was 4:30 p.m., after which she had the remainder of the day to do with herself whatever she wanted.  Switching off her computer, she meticulously cleared her desk of everything unworthy item: discarding her afternoon snack wrappings into the trash bin.  She returned file folders into the cabinet drawers where she had dug them from, then looked around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.  Satisfied, Becca knocked at her boss’s door.  

Blondie was going through her requisition orders for the upcoming week when Becca tapped her door then stuck her head in to inform that she was leaving.  This was a perfunctory routine that Blondie found amusing but wearisome.  She sometimes wished to communicate implicitly to Becca to quit her fawning attitude; she had someone already who worshipped her dearly at home, and didn’t require another, especially at her workplace.  Becca was a good girl, Blondie knew this, and reckoned she could do with some drastic changes in her life.

“By the way, how’s your mom doing?” Blondie asked before Becca could shut back the door.

“She’s doing great.  I spoke with her this morning.  She’s kinda fretful that I’m not around, but she knows how to get by.”

“Yeah, must be tough losing her husband.  I’m sorry about your dad, Becca.”

“Yeah, I am too.  Anyway, I’ll be heading along now.  Goodnight, Mrs. Ditko.”

“Sure, goodnight.”  

Becca grabbed her handbag from her desk and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.  She appraised her office again, nodding with contentment, and took her leave.  She headed first for the restroom to check out her feature.  The place was empty at this hour, but just to be sure, she checked all the stalls before locking the door, then returning to the row of the sink.  She opened her handbag and took out her handkerchief to dab her face, taking off her glasses while she did.  Her tear ducts were in full swing today like she had spent the whole day crying.  The idea of her mom stuck at home without anyone looking after her was enough to make her teary-eyed.  

Becca felt a tremor run down her arms, feeling herself reeling from the throes of a panic attack.  She held onto the sink and tried a breathing tactic that helped her with comporting herself.  Her eyes beheld her tense reflection in the mirror.  Becca lifted her hand off the sink, but unsurprisingly it kept on shaking, to which she then dug into her handbag for a capsule of pills that she often relied upon whenever she felt caught up in such a mood.  She popped a tab into her mouth, then sipped some water from the sink and waited for the drug to calm her nerves.  She was such a hypochondriac, and it amazed her that she hadn’t yet suffer periodic breakdowns.  Often they happened whenever she got perturbed about turbulent activities around her: did she wear the right makeup to work?  Was anybody staring at her awkwardly?  And if so, what was she doing wrong?  Even now, she felt the urge to return to her desk to make sure she had shut down her computer.  She haplessly recalled reading a newspaper article months ago about an office building that went ablaze that began due to faulty wiring in someone’s computer.  The thought of such occurring to her was enough to produce a foreboding threat that she struggled to contain.  But she had switched off her computer.  There was no point returning; least she ran into Blondie, who might reconsider why she had hired her in the first place, knowing about her erratic habits.  Becca knew she was lucky to have this job.  She was giving it her all, and in return, it helped keep her head above water since she had nobody else in her life.

Feeling better, she inhaled several deep breaths that further calmed her nerves, then ran her handkerchief over her face.  She returned her pill capsule into her handbag but stopped when her hand brushed against something else.  Becca retrieved the item and blushed when she recognized the business card that bore Ray’s phone number two days ago.  Something she had damn near forgotten.  She wondered if it was too late to give him a call, or if she should.

Someone tried the door handle, and finding it locked, decided to bang on the door.  

“Anyone in there?” a voice hollered.

“Yes, yes,” Becca yelled back.  “I’ll just be a minute.”

She threw the card back into her handbag, including everything she had taken out, wore back her glasses, and checked her face in the sink mirror before going to unlock the door. 

The janitor stood there with an insolent stare on his face, looking unpleasant that someone was keeping him from completing his clean-up job when he ought to.  Becca wasn’t familiar with the janitor’s face.

“What happened to Dan?” she asked.

“He called in sick,” said the greasy-looking janitor impatiently, before introducing himself as Charles DeGrasse.  “Dan and I are buddies.  He called me and asked if I can take care of his shift for him.  So, here I am.”

“Oh.  Well, it’s all yours,” Becca swung her handbag on her shoulder.  “Thank you.” 

Charles watched her head down the corridor then slipped from view down the stairs without any last-minute glance in his direction.  He hissed with annoyance before pushing his trolley containing a mop, a pair of wash gloves, and an assortment of cleaning fluids and brushes into the restroom.  Such a fine piece of white meat, he thought, wondering what man could be tapping her little ass.  He prayed he wasn’t black, at least not the same cop screwing JoBeth.  It would be a damn shame if that were so.

Becca thought nothing of the janitor after quitting the restroom and heading down the stairs.  He was nonexistent from her mind when she walked out of the bakeryestaurant building and walked two blocks toward Vincente Avenue.  She turned left, past the middle school, then plodded across the street into Calvin Road.  She continued for half a mile before arriving at Saint John’s, which was an apartment housing unit where she resided.  Her walk from her office usually took her thirty minutes.  A taxi would cut that distance in half, but she preferred the long walk for most days.  It felt good working up a sweat and exercising her limbs after being cramped behind her desk all day.

Becca unlocked her front door and let herself inside.  The apartment was quiet as when she left it; nothing appeared out of place.  Her TV set and DVD/stereo equipment, including her giant teddy bear that sat still on her divan, was where she last left it.  Becca went about opening her living room windows before going to inspect the kitchen and then the bedroom.  She threw aside her handbag, got out of her clothes, and then went to take a hot shower.

Later, she nestled on her divan with a towel wrapped around her head and another around her body.  She was enjoying her Reggae playlist on her phone while painting her nails.  While she did her work, her thoughts reflected on herself and the benign circumstances that brought her to her current predicament. 

Becca had turned twenty-three two months ago.  As she saw it, her life was a swirling cocktail of loneliness mixed with boredom her not having a lover in years.  Not since she relocated from her small town in Michigan.  She was no spring chicken or late-comer to the travails of relationships about s*x, and yet sometimes she felt like it.  The last time she found herself in a relationship was back in her high-school year.  He had been a local farmer boy, whereas she as naïve and plain-looking as can be; nothing physically attractive or voluptuous in terms of her figure that considered her worthy enough to stand out to the attention of high school boys.  His name was Jeremy, and for whatever inexplicable reason that drew him toward her, to this day, Becca had a difficult time comprehending that aspect.  They made out a couple of times.  Nothing too far-fetched beside kissing and groping; she had been a virgin after all. 

Becca finished doing her nails then laid back on the divan, waiting for the paint to dry.  Her thoughts wandered about, exploring different subjects before settling on what to do regarding her mystery suitor, Ray, undecided about whether to give him a call or not.  Already, she had made up her mind of calling him.  She wasn’t dumb to recognize that it would inevitably lead to them going to bed together, which was fine with her.  She sure could use the s*x; it had been months since she last got tossed, and her body was craving it.  Another bothersome aspect was whatever outcome might entail after they had s*x.  Would he get back into his clothes and leave without a word, or would it lead to them starting something possibly interesting?

She stretched her hand toward her handbag and fished out the business card, then dialed the number and held her breath as a man’s voice came on.

“What’s up?”

Becca cleared her throat.  “Hi, I’m Becca.  You wrote your number to me at my desk two days ago.”

“Did I?  Pardon me, but mind telling me what you look like?  That can help.”

The question did sound off-putting, but Becca wasn’t concerned about that, though it will become later when she reflected on how easy-going and carefree she was toward the man.  Someone she had met only once and knew nothing about.  His approach had been anything but gentlemanly, but she sensed something peculiar about him that scared and excited her simultaneously when he gazed over her office desk.  The thought of him staring down her body the way he had looked at her caused a profound stirring between her legs that she couldn’t ignore. 

“Well . . . where do I start,” she gave a cheeky laugh, finding the whole thing somewhat hilarious.  “I’m a secretary, and I do wear glasses—”

“Oh yeah,” Ray cut her off amid laugher.  “I remember you now.  You’re the cute-looking secretary at Blondie’s bakery.”

Becca couldn’t stem down her happiness.  She felt flattered that someone she barely knew would consider her as good looking.  It had been ages since she received such a compliment.  It was enough to break goosebumps across her arm.

“That’s very kind of you,” she stammered.  “But I doubt I’m that good looking.”

“You were so,” Ray replied.  “I was looking at you, and I liked what I saw.”

“You’re being too kind.”

“Do you think we can meet sometime for lunch or dinner?  Not like I’m rushing, but I’ve been waiting on your call.”

“I don’t know . . . I mean, I hardly know anything about you.”

“Whatever you’d want to know?  You can ask me everything to my face when you see me.  I ain’t talking about me coming by.  We can meet somewhere and have ourselves something to eat for dinner or lunch and ice cream.”

That enticed Becca to laugh once again.  She realized he was charming her so fast, and she hadn’t even met him yet.  He seemed composed of himself to know what to say to pull her out of her insecure state of mind.  Where she desired caution with herself, he was daring her to come out of her shell.

“Make a choice, Becca,” his voice cut through her reverie.  “Dinner plus drinks, or lunch and ice cream.  Whichever one you’ve got time for, I’m down to oblige.”

Becca left the divan and padded into her bedroom to take a good look at her figure in the vanity mirror beside her bed.  Her heart was skipping beats inside her chest; her face was agog with fear, at not having been this excited in a long time.  How long was it since any man asked her out?  Would she dare let this opportunity pass her by?

“All right,” she blurted before her mind had even settled on her choice.  “Let’s make it dinner and drinks.”

“Cool,” said Ray.  “I like that.  Will tomorrow be good?  Let’s say seven?”

“Yeah . . . I mean, yes,” she quickly added.  “Yes, seven sounds good.”

“That’s great.  So I’ll see you then.  Bye, Becca.”

“Goodbye, Ray.”  

Becca felt lost for breath when the call ended.  She kept staring at her reflection, soaking in the abject surprise evident on her face.  She had said yes.  Against her better judgment, against everything fearful and scary about meeting someone new, she had audaciously called him up and said yes to having dinner with him.  It baffled her that she was still standing and the ground hadn’t opened up to swallow her whole.  Becca loosened both towels and stood closer to the mirror, examining her nude self curiously.  She was fond of doing this during anxiety periods when the pangs of loneliness dwell in her head.  Such periods were often bold enough to suggest her to jump into any exotic outfit in her closet and venture to any unscrupulous evening spot where she’s likely to attract some horny guy’s attention.  She imagined the night would end in her getting drunk out of her head before indulging in copious s*x.  It was safe enough to imagine such moments occurring, but never once had she acted on her impulses.  Today, however, looked to be an exception.  Today, her body told her she was in the mood to f**k and to get f****d.  She wanted the real deal this time around; she wanted to be f****d hard and wild.

Becca pictured Ray standing in her midst, ogling her figure.  She began swaying her hips side to side to a slow rhythm, pretending she was performing a striptease for him.

“Would you want to feel my t**s, Ray?” she murmured with a sultry voice while squeezing her breasts with both hands.  Her fingers rubbed at her n*****s to make them hard.  “I bet you’d love to come play with them,” she pursed her lips at her reflection.  “Go ahead, tell me every nasty thing you want to do to me.”

She let go of her t**s and ran her hands down her hips.  One hand stopped to play with the fluffy bush at her crotch before then sliding a finger down her pubis into her v****a.  Becca retained her stare as she probed herself.  From one finger, she then applied two, and at one point, she sucked in her breath as her fingers started playing with her c******s.  Becca hissed through her teeth as sparks of arousal raced up her spine.  She imagined Ray was the one doing it to her right here and now.  Already she could feel her hips starting to shake as her horniness kicked into high gear.  

“I’ll bet you can’t wait to come and stick that big black thing of yours inside me,” she moaned while sucking in a lungful of air.  Her finger continued rubbing against her c**t like they were out of her control.  “Tell me something, Ray.  Is that. . .  is that a gun I see in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

She applied her thumb to rub against her c******s while inserting her fingers into her snatch; her other hand remained to fondle her t**s.  

“I know you want me.  I know you’re hungry to bend me over and take me however you want.  Isn’t that what you want to do, Ray?”

Becca continued with her sensuous monologue while her fingers perused her orifice.  Her p***y grew wet as her finger-f*****g became frantic.  Her moans kicked up, and her words began to waver, becoming jumbled as she succumbed to her masturbatory pleasure.  She laid on her bed and began trashing about as her ministrations became earnest.  Her back arched, and her whimpering fits turned loud as jolts of sweet sensation went off inside her.  Becca was starting to sweat.  Her eyes stayed shut as she projected the activity she would get to enjoy with her intended date as if he was here right now.  She imagined Ray digging his way with his tongue into her p***y, arousing her to break into a spasmic dance all over the bed.  Becca gave a loud cry as her orgasm exploded inside her womb.  Her body trashed and rolled back and forth, squeezing her legs into a fetal position as she shook from the wave of pleasure racing through her body.  She forced herself to remain still, while still gasping as her orgasm gradually dissipated, leaving her with a warm feeling of euphoria.  To Becca, it felt as though her life lease had been renewed.

Minutes passed before Becca pulled herself from the bed and returned to the bathroom to clean herself once more.  She went looking for her dildo, taking another half hour to pleasure herself better before deciding it was enough for now.  She wore some clothes, then padded into her kitchen to grab a bottle of Crystal Clear out of the fridge and drank from it.  The water felt refreshing and it further got her excited toward looking forward to her evening dinner.